A Year in a Moment
by StargayzerWrites
Summary: Dr. Ziegler attempts to help a young Alia Oxton (code-name: Tracer) adjust to her new chronal accelerator following her re-acclimation to civilian life after her accident.
1. Suppose That It's Fine

"It's been a few days, Alia. How are you finding the new year?" She asks you, her voice almost cooing out at you. It's not a sound you could bring yourself to dislike, but it grates on a part of your soul, deep deep down. You'd waited in the lobby downstairs for nearly half an hour before the esteemed Dr. Zeigler was finally ready for you, and you wondered if, perhaps, that wasn't colouring your soul just a bit.

"It's fine, I s'pose." You reply, softly, turning your chin down and staring at the positively gigantic...

"Chronal Stabiliser." Angela's soft, ever so slightly accented whisper reaches your ears like the faint scent of smog in a soft London breeze, but so, so much sweeter. For a few moments, she remains silent, and you've not got the slightest problem with letting the stillness persist. "... It must be difficult to adjust to, having such a.. Gawdy, mathematical experiment strapped to you all the time, yes?"

For what is supposed to be a therapy session, it's not a question you were expecting. Your chin turns up, and your eyes find hers, wondering why any decent therapist would allow any sense of negativity into their healing. "It… Certainly makes most things difficult." You nod, having to search for an answer that doesn't involve cursing about how heavy it is, or chatting about it smacking into things on your daily walks around the city.

"Oh?" Her visibly soft lips purse, a beautiful shade of red matching the blood that, 'Mercy,' seems to be searching for. Anything to close a wound, wasn't that what Winston had said? Well, if coming to a therapy session half in and half out of her combat uniform was helping, you might as well help, too, by shooting yourself in the foot.

"... Yeah." You say, at first, hoping beyond logic that she might take the hint and bugger off that line of conversation. Still, knowing better and not wanting Angela to waste the breath spilling out over a dexterous tongue like hers… "Uhm…" But before you can actually respond properly, you have to come up with a more sanitized way to bring up the biggest problem. "Getting dressed is a challenge when I can't take it off. The ol' monkey said -"

"Winston is a gorilla."

"Erm… Right, right, sorry, but he said -"

"I don't want to linger, too much, Alia, but I do want to warn you to be careful about calling him an ape in person. He's been known to rage over smaller insults, although he likes cute things, like teddy bears and yourself, so I'd think you'd be fine." She leans forward, ever so slightly, and you have to will your eyes upwards, away from the unfortunately tight t-shirt that has replaced the doctor's usual tunic and skirt

The word fear doesn't come to mind, but all in a moment you wonder whether or not she's flirting with you, or if she was as great as Winston had let on and in just a few weeks of conversations had dug her way down to the core of your problem, or if maybe it - "You're very cute, there, Alia. The boys must love you."

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuucking whew. A statement like that, she couldn't possibly know that -

"Not that you're too interested in it, tho, hm?"

"... Hah, that's a good one, Dr. Ziegler! Of course I'm interested, why wouldn't I be, that'd be… Uhm…" Petering off is never the most convincing sign of total innocence, but if the doctor has even half a synapse in that big brain dedicated to understanding physiological responses, the blush spreading over your cheeks would be a dead giveaway.

"I'd ask if you knew that you wear your emotions on your sleeve, but I must assume that you don't." She asks, finally leaning back and letting the unfortunately tight shirt shift a little more modestly around her immodest bust. "Alia, I'm going to be honest with my feelings here, in an effort to get the same out of you, as I feel you've been ducking the actual problem since we started. Would that be a problem?"

Instead of verbally responding, not that you'd be able to with your heart in your throat, you simply nod - Perhaps a slight bit too quickly, eagerly, hopeful that she'll talk forever and you'll never need to respond.

"Wonderful. I'll be frank, then - Every single one of your medical tests for the past three weeks has indicated no physical issue. Your vitals are just as they were before your flight, save for a consistently higher blood pressure, indicating stress, but not the expected level that exists in those experiencing what we once called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The conversations we've been having haven't indicated, to me, that you're bothered by the accident nor the accelerator that Winston has saddled you with.

"In fact, save for the necessity of that device, he and I agree that you appear to be the poster child for physical and mental health. I believe, and this brief conversation today has solidified my belief, that your only problem has nothing at all to do with the accident. Doubly so, I would have you cleared for return to your regular flight routines, right now."

You can't help but smile. Since the accident, the brass from on-high has forced you to stay grounded, out of the skies and among a bunch of people who can't think any higher than the tops of their heads, but now, finally, Dr. Zeigler is going to let you return to active duty, free to fly as high and -

"But..."

Fuck.

Angela doesn't continue, for a short while, seemingly taking her sweet time to mull over whatever problem has occured to her with whatever topic she's attempting to broach with you. "I care for you, Mrs. Oxton, as I do everyone who comes through the doors of this, or any, Overwatch agency. Captain Amari hasn't expressed it in a while, but there were times before when I would stray from my stated, written, and agreed to mission in order to heal every little scratch I could find…

"And I am not now any more above that than I was before. I want you to share with me what you've got that's bothering you, so I can help you return to your life and active duty; Not just an equal to the talented young woman you were before, but even better. If I didn't hold that want close to my heart, I'd be a terrible doctor."

Unbeknownst to you, your chin tucks and your eyes lower, your hands gripping the sides of your seat a little more tightly than before. In your shoes, your toes curl, and you can feel yourself tensing up. "If you do, I'm prepared to drop everything for the rest of the day to help you refocus. If not, I do have an appointment to be on my way to in the next few minutes. The life of a busy doctor, I'm sure you understand."

You nod, but your heart remains lodged in your gullet, afraid to lower itself back to the loose and vulnerable position in your chest, and let your throat produce any kind of sound. A moment or two passes, and you can't will your eyes up to meet hers.

"Very well, Alia. I suppose active duty will have to wait, then." Casually, too casually, the merciless angel rises to her feet, combat ready heels clacking on the tile floor as she strides towards the door of her tiny office. It's manipulative, that single line; She knows so very well what you want, and it's so grossly not okay for her to dangle flying over your head like that… "I'll see you next week, Alia. Hopefully we can -"

"Wait." It's the first word you've spoken in nearly five minutes, not nearly long enough for your throat to feel as sore as it does. Dr. Ziegler, doing whatever it takes to heal a wound… Including forcing it. "I, uhm… While I was…"

"Destabilised?" Angela nods, her hand finding your shoulder as she moves from the doorway to your little lounge chair. That's all that anyone ever called her time spent bouncing around randomly: Destabilisation this, destabilised that. It makes you wince. "My apologies, Alia, I did not mean to - While you were lost?"

That sounds worse and better, all at once, and you nod. "While I was lost, I… Well, you know about the place I… The house I remember staying at? It was..."

"In the notes, yes." She's pushing, now, trying to help you more than you actually need to get over that mental hump. "A large house in the countryside, acting as a kitchen maid, I believe it was?"

"Mmhmm." You murmur, hands leaving your hair long enough to clamp together in your lap, while below, your ankles cross one another. "There was a, uhm… Another kitchen maid, I think she was, and… Well, they're just dreams, Winston thought, but I kind of remember… Loving her? And, it's just, since I've been a part of Overwatch, I hadn't really thought about love or sex or anything that wasn't getting up in the morning and finding a way to put my butt in the newest, faster aeroplane that they've come up with, but since the accident it's all I can think about!

"On my walk to the building, I saw no less than four or five women who just absolutely made me weak in the knees! Long, gorgeous hair, bright smiles, great ti- Erm, p-personalities…" The slip up causes Mercy to make her first sound since you started your train of, effectively, verbal flooding; She laughs, a smile playing on her lips even after the small chuckle plays itself out.

"So, you think you might be bisexual?" The angeline woman asks, staring curiously but not coldly at you.

"No, not at all! Or, maybe! See, I don't… I don't know that I ever really thought about men like that, at all. It was always getting through school and uni and get into the flight academy here, and then it was about being the best and most groundbreaking Overwatch pilot in history, and then it… Wasn't, not anymore. Suddenly, I became the little girl who gave her whole, short life just to get into an experimental, teleporting plane, and… Die. And they wrote all those stories about me and how I was so dedicated and how it was all I ever wanted, and…

"And then I realized, a few days after Winston slapped this thing on me and let me go home to that awful apartment they got for me… A few days after I got found, I realized that flying, that Overwatch… It might all be gone, forever, and that there was no one left for me to be outside of that. So, I decided I was going to find out who I was without that career in my blood. Which was going great, until I saw this…"

"A woman, I imagine?"

"Yeah… I was grabbing a coffee after my walk that morning. She had the brightest smile, right, and her hair was this super unique, beautiful shade of orange-red, and I couldn't stop staring at her, or smiling, and I couldn't think of anything to say, and…"

"You like her?"

"Maybe… I was going to go up, introduce myself, maybe even ask for her phone number or… I got half way up there when I remembered the woman, from the dream. She looked exactly the same as the woman in the coffee house… Ange? What if I'm just… Imagining it? Or, I dunno, maybe the accident has left me with those memories because I… Was that woman, with her feelings and memories, at sometime or another? This is all experimental stuff, right? I could have lived the life that belongs to a woman in the country, moments at a time and… What if the feelings aren't _actually mine?_ "

Angela sat back, her hand gliding up until her thumb found her cheekbone, and her curled hand covered most of her lips and chin. You decide to leave out the parts where you fantasize about the woman you see; Your face between their thighs, buried in their asses, cuddled up beside them, sweaty and satisfied, and you leave out how good it feels to masturbate thinking about women who've actually sparked those thoughts rather than any woman in porn; The girl in the shop, the woman sitting across the room from you right in that moment…

It's ages before Angela speaks again. The entire time, you sit in silence, staring at a woman who has encountered a medical problem no one ever dreamed of; Is the young woman who experienced a life outside of the only timestream humans have ever seriously understood actually gay herself, or did she end up accidentally mixing memories with the hippocampus of a woman who lived half a century ago, when the world's chaos was still down to human mistakes and misunderstandings? For all the kindness and careful consideration she's given, you can't help but feel like a math problem for her to solve.

"I can't speak for the non-human aspects of it. I'd like you to, at some point, relay this information to Winston, and he can… Honestly, I'm not sure, but the big lug will think of some kind of test or experiment to run. What I can speak of is the cells of your body; The effects of molecular destabilisation on the various cells in your body wouldn't even have been recorded if I didn't have to for regulation purposes, given the only thing I can figure has changed has been your aging process -"

"Wait, what about my aging has changed?"

"It's nothing too great - You'll experience aging somewhat slower than… Well, instead of boring you with the medical facts, I'll simply say that your life expectancy is probably closer to 200 than the 150 most of us will experience. You could get to Lieutenant Willhelm's age before you start to notice any significant wear and tear on your body, not including injuries inflicted on you by others. Unfortunately, if Winston and I are correct, injuries will keep you out for a slight bit longer - Or it might be shorter? We're not positive about how it'll affect your bodies ability to heal itself, but you might manage to live an extra fifty years in your personal twilight."

You almost get a chance to process that information before she moves on. Almost.

"Anyhow, Alia, all I can say for certain is that, as far as the bone and muscle and the vast majority of the molecules that make you who you are, you're the same woman as you were when you took your last physical before that test flight. Every scan we've completed of your brain has shown us that your tissue and synapses appear to have experienced no significant change. I can't tell you that, 'Well, Alia, x chromosome 7 and the corresponding y chromosome indicate that you're incredibly homosexual,' but I can effectively say that, with roughly 98% certainty, your sexuality has nothing to do with whether or not a woman in the countryside experienced love with a fellow kitchenmaid."

"... Okay, wow." You reply, almost flopping back in your chair. It's a ton of information to try and digest at once, and you almost wish Mercy could tell you how hard your synapses are working trying to bring your mind to equilibrium. "But… Uhm… How can I know, y'know, for sure?"

Mercilessly, Angela giggles her response, "Well, Alia, I suppose you'll just have to try?"

"I don't really know how many hot, elegant, confident, experienced lesbians in my area will be willing to… Ahem… Try with me when I have this massive thing covering one of my better _assets,_ Dr. Zeigler."

"Angie or Mercy, will do."

"Mercy?"

"It's a really good codename. I've heard enough that it's just who I am, too."

"... Huh."

"Mmhmm, Dr. Zeigler usually feels relatively impersonal, and that's for… Most other patients, really. And, it's certainly not for what I'm about to ask you - Alia, Winston is working on developing what he called a chronal accelerator, could have it ready by the end of the week. It's based on the same technology you have on there, but he's designing it to be slimmer, sleeker, and… Functional for Overwatch Special Combat Missions. Alia, you wouldn't be a pilot any more, but you would be a member of Overwatch, and even more groundbreaking and memorable, were you to -"

"I accept, obviously!"

Mercy smiled at her. "I figured as much, a bright, beautiful woman like you… The chronal accelerator will be removable and have a dock nearby that would allow you to remain stable without being trapped in it. And, after that, maybe I could help you experiment?"

Only a few times in your life have you had a day so desperately in need of processing.


	2. A Kind of Thing

There was no half an hour wait in the lobby this time, not for you. A decent part of that had to do with your total unwillingness, knowing what awaited you upstairs, to let the secretary tell you, once again, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Oxton, but there's nothing I can do; Doctor Zeigler -" You have to bite your lip to keep from correcting her, "- is in a very important phone call." Last week, it was an important meeting, the week before it was tending to a patient. You got the distinct feeling, though, that were a commotion started and someone attempt to acost you, you'd have the upperhand.

Physically, and Mercily.

Instead, the fifteen minute wait is conducted in Mercy's office. It is neat and organized in all of one, single corner. The rest of the room looked much like you expected; The good Doctor never entered this room for more than a minute if she could help it, and if she did it certainly wasn't so she could find what she needed in a neat and organized way. Instead, you whimsically mused -to yourself since the thought said aloud would have had effectively no good point for existing- that the Doctor often came in like a natural disaster of pens.

Her entrance a short while later include no tornado of pens nor hurricane of ink. Instead, the heels she wore clacked right outside the door as though she was landing on the battlefield, and then the door drifted calmly open and Angela sliding in as the door swung shut. Today, she was wearing a simple pair of black, heel boots up to her knee, with a pair of tight black trousers tucked into them, and a blue blouse under her white lab coat.

"Oh, good morning, Alia!" She smiled when she noticed you, sitting on the client side of her desk. Today, she seems a slight bit rushed, striding across her office with the wing pack on her back tucking up as it sensed the enclosed space around her.

"Good morning, Doct - Angela." You smile back, distracted enough by the prospect of a mission and being an Overwatch Agent that it takes a moment for you to realize that she's distracted, and you're going to have to initiate here. "Uhm, isn't it against regulation for you to wear those in civilian areas?" You ask, doing your best to keep your voice soft, lest as abrasive inquiry ruin her concentration.

"Hm, only slightly." She replies, not glancing up even absently while hastily searching her desk's top. For a few moments, she stops, stumped before appearing to have an epiphany and ducking down to dig in a drawer, popping up with a small pamphlet. "It's been ages since anyone has shown interest in my branch of healing, Alia!" She bristles, her eyes straining through her ever so bright smile. "I'll be back in just a moment or two!"

She's out the door again, before you can even throw her a, ' _C'ya_!'

Predictably, a moment or two is far closer to an hour than you would have prefered. As it were, though, there's no amount of snooping one can't get away with in an office as scattered as Mercy's. You resist, at first, but after around 5 minutes of quiet sitting and self reflection, something you've had no shortage of in the last few weeks, you simply can't take it any more.

There's nothing terribly interesting on her desk - Or, at least nothing that wouldn't seem to break Angela's patient-client confidentiality if you'd read more than a few lines. The shelves on the wall behind are quite haphazardly littered with medals; Just the kind of thing they give people who risk their lives to save others, but for someone who had done and continued to do it so much… You don't bother to count, since that might eat up all of your snooping time, but there are at least 30 of those medals, and the majority are combat medals, meaning -unless the good doc was involved in war crises before she joined Overwatch- that she had an average of, at least, 5 or so a year.

Moving away from the trophy storage, you wander over to a dusty, old file cabinet. It's odd that anyone would have on, but you rationalize it as Mercy not wanting her discoveries hacked and reproduced. That settled, you take a quick glance back at the door before sliding open the top drawer to find that the Angela really seems not to have much of a worry for organizing her paper files. There are tabs, sure, but those tabs have no label, so you're left to piece through file after file, which might be more boring than watching paint dry on the side of a building that's 30 meters away.

There are some files about Switzerland and a doctorate, some files about Angela's Caduceus Staff and how it works, lotsa boring scientific mumbo jumbo - The same can be said of the original designs for the doctor's valkyrie suit, and even how the levitation elements can be extrapolated to a single wing pack, like the one that Mercy had been using earlier. Boring, boring stuff; Not that you don't take some time to read some of those files. Angela's original design for the Valkyrie suit seemed to have meant for it to be full-bodied and not just wrapped around her torso.

However, the most interesting part for your depraved brain is the fact that, in her private designs, the Doc seemed to have allocated additional space for a… Protrusion, between her thighs. Instantly, you begin to wonder; How long is it, how thick is it, would you choke on it, would you like to choke on it? If you choked on it, would Angela have mercy or take just a moment out of her day to appreciate that sometimes people who like and trust one another can physically harm but mentally please one another at the same time?

"Alia, I don't recall you asking me if you could look through those." Angela cooes from behind you, the door swishing through the air as she nudges it shut. You whirl around to face her, bumping your hip into the edge of the cabinet's open drawer and yelp, slightly. If it could have softened at all, the doctor's expression does, and she crosses the room quickly, pressing her hand against your hip and waiting for a just a moment.

Curiously, the pain goes away, but before you can stare at her, confused, she holds her hand up and wiggles her fingers. "Nanobots - In small doses, I can direct them to heal others and ease their pain." With a casual turn, the Doctor moves back to her desk, plopping herself down without even shrugging off her lab coat. "My apologies, Alia, one of our geneticists had a few questions for me which… Really turned into more of an argument. I lost track of myself."

"No worries, doc~" You smile at her, returning quickly to your seat. This is a conversation you've been waiting over two weeks to have, and it's taking more willpower than you're normally able to muster to remain silent as Mercy digs a few files out of her desk, flipping through them. Really, she should just use her computer, but some things never change, you know. "So."

"So." Mercy replies, smiling coyly. "As far as Winston and I can tell, Alia, you've adapted remarkably well to the chronal accelerator. Of course, given Winston had more time to think about how his design would _actually_ be used, it's a lot slimmer and easier to wear, no?"

You nod eagerly in response, half smirking. "You'd think that Athena would be trying to make it more rigid, not the force behind making it liveable."

Stifling a small giggle, Mercy nods her own response. "You have to given Winston a break though -"

"Of course!" You interrupt, briefly, eyes wide at the thought that Angela thought you might be ungrateful for it.

"- Creating a totally new kind of technology under a time crunch like that. It's very impressive, but engineers… Never really think about comfort." It doesn't necessarily seem as though it's engineers that the doctor is preoccupied by, but you push on nevertheless.

"About comfort, Angela, I have to ask something; If you wouldn't mind, of course."

"Not at all, Alia." Her smiles is… So freaking gorgeous.

"I noticed while I was looking at the designs for your combat suit that you seemed to have incorporated space in the… Well, that is to say -"

"Do I have a penis?" Despite the fact that your chin is pointed downwards, you can practically hear her eyes rolling in the tone of her voice. Unable to find your voice, you nod. "Yes, Alia, I have a penis." Suddenly, she giggles. " _Gottverdammt_ , Alia, it's just genitalia. You wouldn't love your mother less if she had one, right?"

"I mean, I guess n-"

"And, if you were dating a woman who had one, you'd think yourself straight just cause of a bit of meat between her legs?"

"Gods, no, that's ridiculous."

"Great! Then, it's ridiculous of you to be awkward asking someone who works with the human body constantly about a penis, then, right?"

You can't help the awkward pause that fills the air as you nod in agreement.

Your mind, as it is, drifts to a few weeks back… It was just a throwaway line at the end of a conversation, and as such it makes less than no sense to be so hung up on it, but you can't help but feel as though if you don't ask, it's all you'll ever think about every time you speak with Angela about anything. "Well…" You start, stopping for a moment, as Mercy's eyes meet yours, maybe wondering where you're going to bring the conversation next.. God, they're pretty as fuck, too.

"Uhm… When you were first telling me about the accelerator, you mentioned helping me practice, but I couldn't help but notice that you observed my practicing with it rather than, well, helping, and I was wondering… Why, I suppose."

"Oh, that?" Her face looks adorable scrunched up in confusion like that, though the beauty returns the moment her eyebrows relax, and she smiles. "Well, I wasn't talking about helping you practise with the accelerator, to say the least."

If your heart actually could stop, it might have right then. "No…? Then, what were you hoping to -"

"Well, I was thinking I could help you figure out whether or not you're a lesbian, Alia. It's clearly been distracting you, and I would feel remiss at the very least if I allowed an operative to slip away from me at any less than 100%."

You can't help that all you can think to do is blink. Nothing that just came out of her lips really answered a single question that you have for her, but she seems not at all eager to offer more in reply to your question, which can only mean one thing: You need to push more. "Ok… But, how do you intend to help me do that?"

"Oh, intend?" She grabs the verb out of the air like one of those old-timey 'we'll call this puck thing a pigeon and shoot it out of the air with a shotgun for some reason' people picked 'pigeons' out of the air. "So, you're interested in finding out if you're gay with me, Alia?" Now, she's teasing you. She's maintained her aire of professionalism, sure, but there's just the slightest twinkle of mischief in her eye.

"I… I guesso." You reply, sure that most of your face is redder than Winston's angry face. Mercy shrugs in response, leaning back in her chair and thinking for a moment before turn her eyes back onto you.

"Hmm. Guessing is for game shows and trivia, Alia, do I look like a game show or a trivia puzzle?" You'd never have thought that you'd find yourself using the word, 'bratty,' to describe the good doctor before you, but calling her, 'bitchy,' doesn't seem quite right, even if she is being ridiculously rude and a bit dismissive during this fairly seriously-meant conversation.

"Uhm, no?" You reply, unsure of exactly where she's going with this.

"No? No, what?" She replies, a bit snidely. Despite how annoying her responses have been, you can't help that you're starting to feel a bit… Aroused, at it.

"Just…" Why is it so hard just to swallow, right now? "No?"

Suddenly, she springs out of her chair, striding around her desk with some mix of hurried confidence, until she's standing directly in front of you, her knees nearly touching yours. "Alia, I need to be desperately clear here. If we are going to do this, and I would like so very much to, you're going to need to do your best to follow along and, more importantly, _behave_. I am not saying that you'll jump only when I tell you to, or that you can't do something if you think it'd be good, but when I tell you something, I do expect you to obey me."

"Oh, like a… Mistress, kind of thing?"

"Do I look like a kind of thing, to you, Alia?"

"I…" Almost like an orgasm spreading through you, the warmth of understanding her spreads through your chest -not to mention your loins, though those are practically on fire already- and you let loose a soft giggle, staring up at her with only a touch of hesitancy. "No, Mistress, you don't."

Mercy's smile turned practically cocky, standing over you with maybe a touch more presumptuousness than you'd like to see - As though she knew this was coming. "Good. Relationships like this are built on trust and love more than they are on pure sexuality. I hesitant to think that we would get away trying anything here, but maybe we can start with something fairly small."

After a moment of thinking, of you staring up at her, waiting, and waiting, and waiting for years in that single moment, she kneels down, and meets your eye. "Alia, you're sure you're willing to do this?" You nod, sure of yourself right up until she cup your chin and pulls you forward just enough to press her lips into yours.

Calling them unbelievably soft would be a total insult to them in comparison with other things that you've called unbelievably soft - Pillows, clothes, your skin after a shower, the seat in the first plane you ever flew. Not only are they so fucking soft, but they're overwhelmingly warm and gentle as Angela easily manipulates your lips to her will, slipping your bottom lip between her teeth and ever so goddamn softly nibbling, before readjusting so it's just her lips suckling on that little bite. That before she she adds her tongue into it, deftly brushing it over and between your lips, even playing with your teeth a little bit before prodding at your practically dead tongue a little.

Then it's over. Your heart is racing and your breathing is shallow and your head is light and all of these are just completely useless thoughts because your lips are tingly in such a ridiculously electric way, and your arms feel like jello even though they're all that's holding you to the chair because you grabbed the arms of it at some point and - "Holy… Shit…"

Mercy giggles, standing slowly, her breath ever so slightly hitching in her throat. "Well, you seem to have liked that~" You can't seem to muster enough willpower to speak a reply, beyond shaking and huffing at her, your thighs quivering almost as much as your crotch feels like it it. "I'll send you a message in a few hours, with an address, a room number, and a time~ Don't be late, darling~"

"Of… Of course, Miss!"


	3. One Lovely Little

You instantly recognize the hotel address that Angela sends you, roughly five minutes after you leave her office. With how shakey your knees, thighs, and honestly every inch of you is feeling, you're not even down to the ground floor before she sends the message. Given that the time she's given you is only a handful of hours away, and that this particular hotel requires you reserve at least 24 hours in advance… Well, it's almost as though Mercy knew you were in before you did.

That's not all that the merciless Mercy gives you, though. Alongside the location - Kings Row, time - Half past 6pm, and room number - 117, your brand new, gay-ass dominatrix also gave you a simple order on what to wear. Simple in that it would be easy to put on and, more importantly, take off. It would not be terribly simple nor easy to procure the items that she had picked out for you, but then that was only if you weren't… You shouldn't have, of course, not with that many people around, but…

How long would it have taken you to find the best store? Half an hour? And to pursue everything? Another hour, to make sure you didn't disappoint? Getting home might have taken another hour, and getting prepared would need plenty of time all of its own. So, as Mercy herself said - It was only slightly against Overwatch regulations to use your accelerator in public.

Around twenty minutes later, still practically dripping and still mildly weak in the knees, you walk into your apartment, carrying a bag full of your new clothes. There's some chance that you should prioritize buying new furniture and replacing the drab, boring decor that a bunch of scientists threw together, but it is quite a cozy little place, all the same, and a leather couch and some plaid in the closet weren't really going to change that.

On top of that, part of you is glad that Mercy lets you know what she prefers in the women she… 'Instructs,' though that's not how the good doctor had described it in her message. Although, your legs are already freshly shaved, as are your underarms and _most_ of your pubic hair, it is nice to know that she loves having a pretty girl to mess up - And it excites you to know that, tonight, it's you who she's going to _ruin_.

There is that one thing at the end, the one thing you're a little hesitant about, but, even still… You're a good girl!

A few hours later, you're entering the lobby of the hotel on King's Row. If it called itself something different, it's likely that it wouldn't have any business at all. It's a pretty nice hotel, you'd admit, if it were 2019 and not 2069. Fifty years and not one proper update to the layout or the overall infrastructure - It didn't make for the most aesthetically enjoyable hotel to spend the night in. To be fair, though, it wasn't like the hotel would have any of your attention.

"May I help you, Ms.?" The desk attendant asked, drawing your attention. You blink, robbed of your little moment of peace and quiet, turning to her and staring at her completely blankly. "Are you here for a room, or?"

"Oh. Of course, I'm sorry!" You laugh, softly, tucking your chin a little bit in embarrassment. "I'd like a room key to room 117, if you'd please." When you say the number, the young woman's eyebrows raise a little bit. It takes her a moment or two, before she responds, but it's a doozy when she does.

"Oh, are you Ms. Oxton? Ms. Ziegler's date this evening?" This evening? Even still, you nod. "According to Miss Ziegler, you're about 12 minutes early, though. Hm…"

"Oh, well, you can just give me the key, and I'll not head up until half 6, no one gets in trouble and everyone is happy!"

She shakes her head. "No, no, Miss isn't happy with that, she explicitly… Hm. If you'll give me a moment, I'll call her." You nod, not really feeling like you have a say in what the adentent is about to do, anyway.

"Miss? Your date is here a little bit early, what would you - Yes, of course. She'll be up soon, then." Within a few moments of picking up the phone, she puts the phone down, and quietly runs her fingers through her hair, before picking up a card and walking around the desk. For the first time, you notice what she's wearing - A tight, black, pencil skirt, a pair of stupidly high heels, and a while blouse, all of which seems slightly too tight.

"Miss Zeigler commands that you beg me for this key." The attendant says, her eyes sparkling just a little bit. "And to explain to you that this is a reminder that you trust her - Not just to dominate you, but that her judgement is worth trusting. So, you are to beg for the room key."

You would, in a millisecond, start to beg - If you had any idea where to start. "I… Uhm… Please, give me the key that Mistress has set aside for me. I am so excited to see her tonight, to serve her to the wholest of my ability, and let her teach me how to help her use me to the fullest of my potential. Please, please give me the key." You give it your best effort, trying to remain relatively calm and concise. Before you've even finished speaking, you can tell that you've not done enough - And, as a last ditch effort, you add, "Including the one place I never though I would be so excited to let someone enter."

The smirk on her face lets you know just as much as she does. "Oh? And where is that?"

"I am fully prepared… _Plug included_ … To allow Mistress to use my ass to her heart's content."

"Good." She smiles, now, reaching into the small envelope in her hand and tugging out a key. "You're to carry this in your mouth up to room 117, on the second floor. You're not to take it out of your mouth until Miss says you may." Fighting a furious blush on your face, and maybe a little bit of a frown from being played with, you hold your hand out, ready to take the dumb card up between your lips. The woman, though shakes her head. "I am going to put it between your teeth. You are not allowed to use your hands, at all, Ms. Oxton."

The walk to, the ride up, and the walk to the room are the most humiliating and fucking exhilarating few moments of your life. A woman placed a key between your teeth, telling you to hold tight or go home without any experience, and patted your cheek. And, no matter how embarrassing it might have been otherwise, you blushed and had to fight back a soft groan as you began walking. You listened very well to what Mercy had told you - You brought no bags, and the only clothes you had were what you wore.

As you knock on the door, you can't help but feel a bit awkward; Angela requested a simple outfit: A tight pair of black, torn up jeans, a plain, white t-shirt, and a simple black jacket. All of which is fine - It's what she requested you wear underneath of it that is a little bit more problematic. You knock once more, only for it to remain shut, and the lovely, if apparently mildly evil, domme behind it to remain totally silent. All that, and holding a card between your teeth.

Do you trust her? Yes. So you keep the card between your teeth, and knock a third time.

Finally, the pops open, but barely a crack. You see one eye, and see it dart up and down, before it's eyebrow raises. "You have key card. Let yourself in." Before you can reach up to take the card out and start asking questions, the door pops shut again, a loud click feeling more like a slap in the face. But, of course, you want in, and you're a good girl, so - You stoop down, hoping no one comes by and sees you feeling stupid, doing your best to slide the key down through the little key reader.

The first few times, it beeps at you - Incomplete key reading attempt or some such. Finally, on the fifth or sixth time, it works, and you easily push the door open, elated - Until you see a woman staring at you from down the hall, her head cocked to the side as she swipes her own key and casually steps into her room. Eager to escape the scene, you slid past the quickly closing door and drop the key from your teeth into your hand.

"Hello, darling~"

"I don't remember agreeing to let other people in on this act, Angela!" You don't shout, but the blush on your cheeks and the wetness between your thighs has you feeling overly defensive. Calmly, without even blinking, the angelic domme rises to her feet from the bed, striding over to you - Her casual clothing, a pair of yoga pants and a t-shirt of her own, help you keep yourself from being distracted out of your angry little mood. Until, standing right next to you, she leans in and presses her lips to your neck.

Normally, no matter how turned on you might be, a simple kiss to the neck would be irritating at best and enraging at worst. Now, tho, her soft lips find your vulnerable flesh, and you almost collapse as the pleasure of her touch seeps through you. Her lips are ever so slightly wet, and the amazing effect that chilling drops of -is that wine on the table where she was sitting?- wine have before her warm lips overpower the sensation is fucking amazing. It's a good thing she got so close, since your knees wobble so much she feels the need to grab you to make sure you don't.

Her hands on your hips don't necessarily help you regain control of yourself, but that's not on your mind at the moment, instead, you slide your arm around her shoulders just trying to hold yourself up. Suddenly, though, there's something dipping under the waistband of your now unbuttoned pants. You don't even really have a chance to ask the angel what the hell she's doing before her finger finds your clit and casually starts rubbing.

It only takes a few seconds. Your thighs tense, your eyes clench shut, and your mouth opens of its own accord, and any anger you might have felt is instantly washed away. Wave after wave after wave after wave of pleasure sudder throughout your body, and soon instead of being tense, your thighs are just shaking. Even though you can't hear it, you're definitely moaning, long and low, and going on and on just like your orgasm.

It's a few moments before you can care enough to remember to swallow your spit, and part of you is pretty sure that if you cum again anytime soon tonight you're going to end up pulling an abdominal muscle. "Fuuuuuuuhhhhck…" You finally get out. "Holy fuck, fuck… Fuck…" Slowly, Angela moves you, first to just sitting on the bed, then to having joined you, and finally pulling you into a hug. "That was amaaaayzing…" You whisper, softly, pushing up against her.

"I know," she starts in, "That you weren't expecting that. It's part of why I did it - I want you to trust me, darling, and I want you to trust my judgement. Leanne, the girl at the desk, is a sub of mine. Or, she was, a while ago. Anyway - I trust her, and she trusts me. I didn't ask some random desk girl to help me make you blush, I know better. Alia, that was the whole point of that - I need you to trust that, when I tell you that I think you can handle a little more pain, I'm not doing it just to amuse myself. I'm doing it so I can make you feel better, in the end."

Still gasping softly, still unable to stop your thighs from shaking, but slowly gaining awareness to the fact that you underly wrecked your panties with those orgasm, you don't even try to offer her an acknowledgement. Instead, you push yourself into her more, cuddling. You sit there for a little while, simmering in post orgasmic bliss, hugging the angelic lady for as long as she'll let you.

But, no matter how long you wait, she seems content to wait with you. Her arm around you rubs at your shoulder, tickles the back of your neck, wraps around and plays at your shirt collar, rubbing up against your collarbone, her opposite is rubbing gently at your side. And, although it isn't doing much, you can feel her chin gently resting on your head. It's… Very comforting.

Slowly, almost more hesitantly than you mean to be, you slide your hand down, finger tips grazing the inside of her thighs, until she notices and perks her chin up. You wonder if she thought, maybe, you had given up on the original idea of tonight. "May I?" Unintentionally, your normally boisterous and excited voice comes out as little more than a whisper. "Mistress," you correct, speaking a slight bit louder, "May I?" She cocks her head for a moment, her blonde hair bobbing in her ponytail, and smiles.

"If you would like to, my lovely, little babydyke~"

You pause for a moment at that, but ultimately decide not to focus on it for the moment. You have a small pleasure debt to repay, after all, and so ever so slowly, you crawl your way off of the bed, not yet trusting your legs nor arms not to fail you and let you collapse. Not that Angela seems to mind spending the minutes drinking in your body - And maybe thinking about how destroyed your newly purchased clothing is, just because of her.

Finally, you're on your knees. It's a position you're familiar with - Kneeling to dig in the dirt, kneeling to do a puzzle on the floor, kneeling just to do whatever the fuck comes to mind, really. That unfamiliar portion? The long, gorgeous legs spread out in either direction, and the positively _throbbing_ package smack dab in the middle. For a moment, all you do is stare, blinking repeatedly as you try to comprehend how something that makes a shape like _that_ is gonna fit anywhere in your body, at all.

"Alia?" Angela coos from above you. "Are you okay?" Your awe of her bulge only somewhat broken, you only give a small, half-nod. "Are you sure that you want to do this?" You nod, again, only half listening to what she said. "I just want to make sure you know that you're going to be cleared for active duty even if you choose to back out of this, it's just a matter that takes a little bit of time. And -"

You've never properly seen Mercy uncomfortable, but it's clear why. A superior officer (even if only technically) about to get a blowjob from a young woman whom she'd dangled field duty over two weeks prior? You absolutely understand her uncomfortableness. "Angela?" you reply, softly, cutting her off mid sentence. "If I were uncomfortable with this, or if I thought you were manipulating me to get laid, I wouldn't be here. I am excited and elated that a woman as beautiful as you is helping me with this. And, I'm a little afraid of disappointing you or being bad at this, or finding out in the end that these feelings have just… Bled over from the old countryside woman. But, your position of power was never a part of this, for me."

Without waiting for her to figure out her response, you lean forward and press your lips against her yoga-pants covered bulge. Under the fabric, it's warm and almost pulsing, and as you plant a few, soft kisses there, your eyes drift upwards, curious about the reaction from your mistress - Clear pleasure, but the apprehension hasn't drowned entirely from her face, yet, but you would love, love, love to help with that, wouldn't you, good girl?


	4. At This Rate

"That's a good girl~" Angela moans, her toes curling up visibly through the leggings that still cling to her feet. Although, it can't be said that you notice that, given you're a mild bit preoccupied. Mercy may not be as long as you had thought from the bulge, but given that she was girthy, you felt as though you had every right to be intimidated by it. Ergo, she had no reason to giggle when she hefted her butt up to help you slide her pants down and that monster popped out and made you gasp a little bit.

At least now, she's being a bit kinder - Though, who wouldn't be when a beautiful girl like you has their lips wrapped tightly around the head of their cock, sucking and licking away at you like a lollipop. Her eyes stare down at you softly, and she's let her hair out of that ponytail and let it cascade down and frame her face so absolutely beautifully, especially with her lips spread wide in a half moan. You're a little bit surprised when, after you notice that and let out a little moan, Mercy's little coo turns into a solid groan.

She tell you to start humming as you sucked her cock? No. But she didn't tell you not to, either. "Darling~" Mercy moaned, softly as her hand effortlessly slipped into your hair and found a decent fistfull. "You've gotta… Umf… Go a bit deeper, baby~" The angelic woman above you moans, gently pressing her hand down, and your head along with it. As thick as it is, that's not terribly difficult, yet, but so far you've only got the head between your lips.

"Your tongue feels so nice and warm, baby~ But, you've gotta... Move it around a little bit to keep it interesting." She groans, her throat catches the words alongside a moan despite her claims that you need to do better. Even still, it'd be silly to disobey an instructor in any setting so, as she steadily pushes your head deeper and a deeper, you do your best to try and wriggle and writhe your tongue around underneath her pulsating cock.

Suddenly, though, her cock goes just a little bit too far and without any control over it, you start to gag, and instinctively try to pull yourself off of her cock. Instead, overpowering your panicky form easily, Mercy mercilessly hold your head still, cock impaling your lips as you softly hack away around her. "Ssssssssssssshhhhhhh." She coos, repeating the word every few seconds that pass as you fail to regain control of yourself. Finally, it stops, and she leans back, relaxing into a moan.

"Okay, baby… We're gonna practice a little something called deepthroating. All you have to do is relax your throat, take a nice deep breath and -" You barely have time to do as she says before her hips thrust up and her hand pushes down, almost slipping her cock down your throat like fingers into a glove - "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah~" Mercy moans, her thighs quivering clenching around you, and her hands tightening their grip in your hair.

For a surprise, it's ridiculously easy not to gag around her cock. It's a bit difficult to breath, yes, but having her thick, hot cock buried in your throat feels… Fantastically natural, really. Without meaning to, you let loose a long, satisfied groan, prompting another, shuddering tremble from up above. After it passes, though, Mercy giggles at you, a blush of pleasure plastured across her cheeks. "Oh, baby~ Someone love a big cock in their throat, hm?"

You can't help but feel great about how you're doing - Mercy is moaning and groaning and trembling and breathing hard and her eyelids are listing closed in pleasure and you're fairly sure that the swooshing sound is either your heartbeat in your ears or her still-clothed toes scratching against the carpet. "Alright, now, I'm going to let go of your head, baby. Some girls will like if you bob quickly, and some would prefer slowly, other would prefer a mix of both. Personally, go nice and slow for me. I wanna savor your first blowjob~"

Her logic is definitely sound enough. Giving the slightest of nods, obviously limited because of the massive protrusion stuck in your throat, and begin to slowly move your head. It hadn't occurred to you, before, that sliding a big dick in and out of your throat would feel so incredibly, vastly different to simply having it plowed into. It's not the strangest sensation you've ever felt, but she's thick enough that's she touching nearly every square centimeter of your throat and every single centimeter she's touching is sending that sensation straight to your brain as you bob.

That feeling shouldn't be as overwhelming as it is, but it alone almost makes your knees shake. And, if pleasure weren't enough to spur you on, then, "A little faster than that, my lovely little cocksucker~" definitely is. At what you consider to be a fairly reasonable, but still slow pace, you continue to bob, dragging your lovely, wet throat across Mercy's member and making the woman moan. Speaking of moaning, it occurs to you that it might be a good idea to go ahead and continue utilizing her tips from earlier.

In that; You moan, quite a lot, from the oddly wonderful sensation her cock is granting you within your throat; You try to remember to use your tongue; And, when you reach the tip of her cock, you suckle just a little bit, which is a little counterintuitive for a blowjob, but who are you to argue with the originator, anyway? Given a moment to think as the head of her cock nearly leaves your mouth, an idea pops into your mind, and you set upon enacting it immediately.

Cockhead barely penetrating your lips, you let your eyes slide shut and wrap your lips tightly against her shaft, which you would figure feels better for how plump they are, but who can really say? After a moment or so, you begin to slide down again, keeping your teeth tucked far away from the sensitive flesh you're working with, but after just another second or two, you dive down, stuffing your gullet so full of cock that the sensation of doing so damned near makes you cum on Mercy's carpet.

But, almost as soon as you press your lips around the base of her might cock, the hand in your hair tightens once more, and pulls you off, fairly roughly. It's not painful, but you are left fairly curious - Until you look up at Mercy's face, utterly contorted into almost painful pleasure. It's probably benign, you tell yourself, nothing major; But, even still, you ask, "Are you alright, Mistress? Did I do something wrong?"

"No, no, you're doing lovely, baby~ Your… Blowjob skills certainly don't need any… Any work, at least for me…" She's quiet for a few moments, consolidating the air in her lungs. "If you ever meet a girl with a thinner cock, you might be in trouble. But, I couldn't say, myself, given you almost made me cum too soon, there." If you could have seen the twinkle in your eye, you might have giggled like Mercy did, but instead you pout, as she giggles at your expression.

"I'd say it's time to move on. Get undressed for me, love~ I'm excited to see what you've got on underneath that casual get up." You have to resist a reply of, 'Oh, just a pair of $30 silk panties now positively stained with my cum,' but you manage someone, rising shakily to your feet and forcing yourself to take a deep breath, if for no other reason than your brain not lacking oxygen. "Don't worry about trying to be sexy while you're undressing, my little cockslut~"

A pout almost forms on your face - Part of you had been looking forward to shaking your hips and waving your ass in her face, to make her even more eager to wreck you, as she had promised she would earlier that day. Knowing better, though, you instead let a smile form on your lips, fueled by the look in her eyes that promises that same pounding no matter what. Albeit, after a quick cool down, you know it's coming, and that's what counts.

Your jeans, by Mercy's own deft fingers, are already unbuttoned, easily slide down your legs. The problem is that the crotch is so thoroughly drenched that you're lucky you were far too busy to notice the feeling of it against your thighs. "Someone enjoyed themselves~" Angela teases from her place on the hotel room's loveseat, lounging around comfortable with a that lovely, if snide, smile of hers. God, it's so pretty. As you step out of your pants, revealing the black, thigh high garters, right alongside the garter belt wrapped around your waist and the little straps hold the two together over top a red pair of silk panties, you can't help but step forward, pressing your lips messily up against her cheek, before stepping back once more.

"Just as you requested, Mistress, the black garters and belt~" You smile, pleased with yourself and certain that Mercy would like the view herself - Now, and when she had you bend over something. Without waiting for the inevitably positive response, you begin pretending to fiddle with the clips on your accelerator, eventually able to pretend like you were finally successful in removing it, quickly triding over and putting it on the port that Mercy had prepared, and move on to faking an effort at undoing the buttons on your jacket, as though you've not worn it seventeen thousand times before.

"Hurry up, my dressed up little slut~" Those phrases, you try to tell yourself, should make you feel worse about what you're doing, standing in Mercy's flat, blowing in Mercy's flat… Really, doing just about anything in Mercy's flat. Instead, your already wet thighs end up squishing together more as a kind of simplistic, wholesome pleasure fills your tummy. You nod, somewhat curtly, and finish un-buttoning your jacket within a minute or two. Even though you had been told not to, some deeply held, cheeky part of you lets the jacket hang in place over yourself for a moment, before shrugging it off of your shoulders and letting it slowly roll down off of your arms.

Once it's on the floor in a heap, your next task in your t-shirt, but there's not exactly a ton of ways to go about removing your shirt is a next manner. You simply grab them hem, and tug it up, probably a little too slowly for your merciless miss's whims, really. Underneath your shirt was simply a matching bra, nothing terribly special, buy you did think that it made your breasts look lovably gropable now that they were in the light. It's not until you try to speak that you realize how high up in your throat your heart is, once more.

"D-Done, Mistress," you almost whimper, your brain being drawn away from the hotness of the moment by the simple fact of how awkward it feels, standing there in what amount to your underwear before such a beautiful woman. The only positive thing you can think of is that Angela certainly seems to enjoy the view you provide her - Looking you over contently, stroking herself, smiling and seemingly thinking.

"You look lovely, Alia~" She coos, softly, her hand leaving her cock and drifting to her chin for a moment. You can't help but awkwardly wonder if her hand was covered in your spit or if it had all dried up while you were undressing. Still, you smile at her, thankful for the compliment, and let your hands drift together in front of your crotch, almost as though you're trying to hide the dampness of your crotch from her. "Hey, honey, outside of our little play here, are you comfortable continuing?"

Are you? It should be the kind of thing that you leap at, right? This is exactly what you fantasized about for week, agonized over your confusion for such a long, long time, and yet here it is, the answer in reach, and you feel nothing more than conflicted, torn between an attraction you can't ignore and a fear you can't even begin to explain. Surely, Mercy had hoped for a quick answer to her question, but you can't seem to come up with one.

"I… Angela, I… I've thought about this, this moment so much since the accident. The moment where I finally laid down with a woman and found out whether or not my body likes it, which I… I like to think would be independent to the memories of some lady from ages ago… And, gods, you're beautiful, and you've made me spoil myself and I really, really want to keep going but… Maybe without the Mistress element? I'll still listen, I just, I -"

"Of course, Alia~" Angela smiles, quickly standing and striding over, wrapping her arms around you. "I'm glad you gave it a try even though it made you uncomfortable, originally, but since that feeling continued, I don't have any problem continuing on an even field, here." Her smile is so calming and beautiful it's a wonder she felt like she needed to design her suit with any more angelic undertones.

She squeezes you, her arms tight around her and her hips turned slightly to the side because her frankly big cock is still throbbing, eagerly awaiting you. Ever so shakily, you slide your arms under hers, and envelope her in a tight hug, too. "Thank you, Angela~" You breath, softly, pulling yourself into her chest and breathing in the scent of lilac, a lovely perfume choice. With the incentive to, you take a deep breath in, inhaling the sweet smell before letting the air slide out, a calm, relaxed sigh. "I'm so lucky to have a… Well, to have you."

"You're welcome, baby. I'm glad to have you, too. Are you ready to keep go-" You can't let her finish that sentence, with how ready you are. Chin tilted up, you press upwards, kissing her deeply and squeezing her tighter as you do. She lets you lead the kiss, this time, and you take it nice and slow, eventually moving from simply pressing your lips together to letting your tongue play over her lips, taking in the aftertaste of the wine she'd been sipping at earlier.

Sometimes, ideas are powerful enough that, no matter what you're doing, you don't want to ignore them. One such idea pops into your head, and you allow yourself to wearily go along with it, somewhat unsure that you're going to like it but eager to find out. Your hands are slow to obey you, but they dip down, slipping under and slowly tugging up at the hem of Angela's shirt - She's ever so kind enough to break the kiss and help you to help her, her shirt going up and up until it's a scarf.

And, a scarf it remains, for a few moment, as you hold the kiss together, sliding your arms around her again, this time aiming up, in search of a brastrap and - Yet, you find none. That's the only reason your eyes pop open, and you reluctantly peel your lips from hers, the both of you short of breath. Your chin tucks, and instead of some contraption of a bra that avoids a strap in the back, you're greeted by the sight of a lovely rack.

Mercy giggles, instantly rolling her eyes up and her shoulders back, giving you a better, stronger view of her chest. Your eyes dart up, meeting hers and asking silently for permission, to which her incredulent expression seems to bade you to induldge. Silently thankful, your hands glide back to the front of your older lover, and quickly move to cup her breasts from below. They're heavier than you'd have thought they'd feel, since your own generally don't feel like they weigh anything - Although, maybe you're just used to it?

They're soft as heel, too, and before you're aware of it, your hands start gently squeezing them. "Why is it better to squeeze your breasts than when I do me?" You wonder aloud, but barely in more than a whisper. Mercy carelessly shrugs, her breasts moving in response and forcing your jaw to drop open slightly. They look nice, they feel great to touch, and there's no reason _anything_ moving like that should be so fucking nice looking. The only thing you can think of that's left is -

You glance up again, and promptly duck down, wrapping your lips around one her pert nipples. You can't help but love the little gasp you get from the older woman, and quickly, gently start to suck, immediately gathering that adding your tongue to the mix might be better - You're just too distracted to get into it immediately. Instead, you spend a few minutes just sucking on and kissing her nipple, paying generally close attention to how Mercy reacts to what you do. Generally in that you pay attention to her when you're not too busy paying attention to your own reaction.

More out of curiosity than anything, you move your lips out of the way and gently press your teeth into the soft flesh of her bud, nibbling on her more gently than you could on any other object - Her moans don't seem to intensify at all, to which you try and remind yourself that that doesn't mean she didn't like it, so you keep nibbling. Eventually, you feel like you've established a lovely balance between dragging your tongue around on her sensitive flesh and nibbling and sucking on her, and it's right around then that Mercy giggles, again. "Darling, you're going to end up licking me raw at this rate~"

You take the hint as well as you can, and almost skulkingly continue on downward, as you had originally intended before you got distracted. You let yourself kiss your way down, down the crest of her breast, over her wonderfully tight but just barely invisible abs, and down almost back to her cock. You can't help but notice that her meat has lost just a little bit of it's hardness, but of course that's totally understandable - It'd be ridiculous to expect it to stay up when it's not being paid any attention, right…? Right?

Well, you're not going to stop ignoring it right now, anyway. Gracefully, or so you think, you dance around your lover, and pop up quickly to press a quick kiss into the back of her neck before plopping down on your knees once more. You know, of course, what a butt looks like - You've ogled your fair share of butts carelessly, but this almost feels completely different. Up close, it's… Wonderful. Much like her breasts, Angela's ass is absolutely fantastic, and your interest in it is a little confusing, considering you have one which you would like to think equals hers.

Looking up to ask permission would be silly, at this point, and you let yourself creep forward a little bit, and press your lips into one of her cheeks. Glancing up at what sounds like a gulp, your eyes meet Mercy's, and you can't help but notice that she almost looks like she's uncomfortable. Only, it doesn't seem like she wants you to stop, kind of like how you were feeling about the mildly degrading nicknames, but… A sly smile pops up on your lips, through the kiss you haven't taken off of her butt, yet, and you immediately begin peppering her behind with a small spray of kisses.

Above you, Mercy bites her lip to stifle what you're almost sure would have been a fairly large moan, spurring you on to try and push that moan out, even still. Eventually, your kisses end up drifting towards her crack, giving you a small bit of pause - You can't smell anything, sure, but it's still a butt, and while it's aesthetically pleasing, you're not sure you want to get anything having to do with anyone's butt but your own butt. The thought of which returns your attention to the thankfully small object tucked away in there.

"You have a lovely ass, Ange." You breath up to her, in between planting kisses on her, your hands doing their best to respectfully rub at her thighs as a distraction from smacking her butt.

"You've got a nice one yourself, Alia~" She replies, her breath almost dancing over her vocals chords to avoid the moan she's still hiding. Your curiosity gets the better of you, and between kisses your right hand slides up and gives the angelic older woman a light tap on the ass, finally dragging that moan, fighting and clawing, out of her lips. "Oooooh, you little brat~" She groans, letting a slight shiver out, too.

"I'm your brat, though~" You reply, kissing the small red mark your slap has left on her skin.


	5. A Falling Angel

"Aaaaaaaah fuck~" You groaned, your hands curled up in the blankets. Of course, because of the panties balled up in your mouth, it sounded more like, "Mmmmmmmfmk." It was Angela's idea, of course, to use your own panties as a gag, probably equal parts because she thought it was hot as fuck and because she didn't want your moaning screams as she ate you out to get any complaints filed. Honestly, given the fact your cum didn't taste terribly, you didn't necessarily disagree about how hot it was.

"Play with my hair, baby~" Ange pops up again, that sweet, accented voice giving you direction about what she likes. You hesitate, greatly, because you don't want to end up pulling her hair out when you cum or something, but if it's something she'd like, then who are you to stop her? There's so much pleasure seeping outward from your pussy that you almost don't even register the feeling of lifting your arms or how soft her hair is under your fingertips as you start to play with it.

You almost don't even register the spike in pleasure as she focuses her efforts on your clit. Okay - That's a lie, you definitely notice. Based on the face that your fingers scrunch up in her loose locks and your thighs squeeze her head in place, you're pretty sure that Mercy noticed to. Evidently, experience means that when someone pulls your hair, you only try harder. Instead of being dissuaded by your overwhelmedness, Angela seems spurred on, and after only a few more moments of assaulting your clit, you feel your tummy tense and yourself cum, hard.

Your legs flop down on her shoulders as her talented tongue dials back it's attack, using long, slow licks to stop from over stimulating you. Even still, she still wants to lap up as much flavor from you as she can, and you certainly can't blame her. Slowly, her lips start to ascend up, kissing first at your thighs, then at your tummy, then at your breasts where she had so recently yanked the cups down and caused them to sort of fold in on themselves. She doesn't stop to give you any of the same treatment that you'd given her, though, choosing instead to kiss up your neck and over your chin.

Her ultimate goal, it seems, was to make it to your lips, where she could press her tongue between yours and give you a sloppy, self-flavored kiss, while also making her way up until she's straddling your lap, her cock hard and throbbing between you. And, so she could hook her tongue up in your panties and gently drag them out, sort of spitting them off to the side before renewing her efforts to kiss your socks off. Finally, while she still kisses, you have to lightly tap on her side, and she finally pulls off. "Are you okay, Alia?" She asks, almost before your lips are even disconnected.

"I just…" You huff. "Need a… Breather…" In response, instead of giving you a proper break, Angela adjusts herself slightly, and begins planting several light, soft kisses against your neck.

"So, how are you feeling so far?" She asks, between one of the kisses, rudely not giving you even a moment's chance to reply before returning to her assault on your sensitive throat.

"Uber gay~" You joke, softly, meaning it all the same. "This has been… Amazing, so far, Angela."

It takes a few minutes before you have your breath back, really, but a large part of that has to do with Mercy's little kisses, planted here and there, making your breathes hitch in your throat or mix with soft moaning. Eventually though, your breathing steadies, and your heart rate flutters back down to normal, and Mercy stops kissing your neck. You feel pretty calm and at peace - "So, are we ready to fuck?"

As soon as Mercy poses the question, your heart rate jumps again. Not all the way back to the top, but it does jump a little bit. Even still, after only a few moments of consideration, you nod. "I think so. Are you?" It's a dumb question, given you can feel her throbbing madly against your tummy. Thankfully, or maybe regretfully, she doesn't mock you, instead smiling and taking only a moment to drink you in before sliding off of you, and onto her back.

"It's your first time," she says, "It's best if you can control the speed of taking me in." And, that might well be true, but even so you frown, cocking your head to the side a little bit.

"I don't know… I'd honestly rather have you be in control of it, Mercy, please." Thankfully, instead of questioning you and making you explain that you, currently, feel a total lack of confidence in your legs' ability to hold you up properly, Angela gingerly rises back up onto her knees, and directs you with a wave of her hand to lay in front of you. A few scootches later, and your head finds the hotel room's pillow, your feet are pointed at Angela, and her big fucking dick is pointed right at you.

"You look a little apprehensive," she comments, her voice soft as her hands land on your knees and gently spread them, allowing her to lean in and plant soft, almost ticklish, little kisses on your thighs.

You can almost only nod in response, your ability to speak saved only by a particularly nice feeling kiss so very near your crotch. "Aaaah…~ I, I guesso. I've just… Never done this before." Her soft, blue eyes glance up at you, once more, as her lips find your clit and start to gently play with it. Only slightly worn out, the little bit of stimuli still feels amazing, and you find yourself clamping down on your lips as pleasured warmth radiates outwards from her tongue into you.

Finally, Mercy leans herself up again, standing on her knees with her cock still throbbing. You'd have thought that it would have softened some more, but the opposite appears to have occured. Maybe you should ask her if that's normal for all penises or - "Are you ready, sweetie?" She asks, again, her fingers slipping out of her own mouth and dipping down to rub at her own crown.

There could always be tomorrow. No one, nothing said that you had to have sex today. Someone offered, and without really thinking about how exactly that would affect you. It's silly, really, that this is the point where the thought has popped into your head - You've been here for nearly an hour, having sex. Sure, most people would probably call it foreplay, but kissing and licking and sucking and all that? That's sex. This is just… More sex. It's still the first time you've ever had sex, and you feel nearly shameful that it's only just occurred to you because a phallus is going to enter a different hole in your body that you've already allowed it to - Ipso facto, although you know it shouldn't matter, you're already not a virgin.

You just wish you'd noticed already - Coulda been way more sanctimonious.

You nod, fighting to get a soft whisper out past the the hitch in your throat. "Yes~ Please." Mercy smiles, kissing each of your knees, then ducking down and kissing the insides of your thighs once more, then your hip bones, and then up your tummy, through the valley of your cleavage, up your neck, and by the time she gets to your chin you can feel it, down there, brushing up against your labia. So few centimeters away, her eyes are big, wide, and you feel like you can see a slight bit of eagerness in those eyes.

"I get the feeling," you whisper, your lip cocking up just a little bit, "that I'm not the only one who wanted to do this, not for the experience or for the stability of an agent, Dr. Ziegler, but just for you and just for me." A soft blush spreads across her cheekbones, and it's such a gorgeous sight to see, especially inside a moment of your own clarity. "Please, Angela - Mercy, fuck with me?"

"One last question~?" She murmurs, smirk crossing her face just as a frown takes yours. You nod. "You're on birth control, right?"

"Mhm, yep. Are you?" She nods, her smirk turning into a smile. "Then, please, please - Let's find out how gay I am?" Angela almost laughs, you notice, but instead of ruining the moment, she leans forward, and you couldn't be happier to accept her kiss.

At the same time as she kisses you, she also pushes forward. You're luck that she knew so well what do with herself, where you're little hole would be - You've neglected it for far too long, finding yourself now in a place where you honestly wouldn't have been much help in directing her inside of you. Her tongue dances over your lips as she spreads you out, filling you like you wouldn't have thought possible. That skillful tongue of her had felt amazing, but somehow this felt better, like a full tummy after a meal or, or - Just, a perfect sense of being fulfilled.

But, that's only the first few inches, at most. Angela distracts you with her lips, her talented tongue moving faster than you could possibly handle right now but still somehow moving all too slowly to distract you from all the feelings down below. Her hands holding steady on your waist, her arms brushing up against your raised legs as she herself occupied their regular resting area. The pillow, comfortable and smooth, fighting to stop you from throwing your head back and moaning like you might want to.

So fucking full. And, not only that, but that fullness is positively throbbing - It's not steady, either, pulsing to the beat of Mercy's heart, a fickle thing which is starting to pick up as pleasure starts to overwhelm it. Is that scientific, you wonder, oddly, but reconcile quickly that your best source is, at the moment, busy, as should you be. You wonder, as the pulsing slides deeper and deeper over the course of so, so much time, if you would feel emptier without the plug still nestled firmly between your cheeks.

By the time, probably five or ten minutes later, that Angela rests fully inside of you, you're practically gasping for air around your pleasured little moans. "So full~" You mutter, mostly to yourself, able to feel just as strongly that Angela's balls are resting against your butt as you are to feel that her cock is nestled so amazingly inside of you. "Fuck, fuck this feels good." You add, your voice low and more filled with air than your lungs are likely to be. "Gods, Angela, _you_ feel so _gooood_ inside of me."

Equally breathless, the smiling, older woman's hands clutch at your sides as though she's trying to stop you from moving with just as much willpower as it's taking her. "And you feel… Fucking amazing wrapped around me, darling~" The silence that fills the air while she leans in to kiss at your chin goes completely unnoticed, damped by your heartbeat as it thumps through your ears. "Are you ready for more?"

"Uhuh~"

"Will you indulge my kinky side a bit, darling?" She wonders. Here you are, someone buried to their hilt inside of you, and being asked to contemplate your readiness for being dominated just a little bit. Truth be told, you're not sure about the answer to her question, but you do know that you want more - And you know the fastest way to get it. You nod, quickly, your hair bobbing along with your chin.

"Then beg me for my dick, baby~" Angela purrs, voice low and deep and perfect in every way. "Tell me -" she starts, perhaps thinking you need some incentive to help the words come to your mind. For a genius, in that moment, she's pretty stupid.

"Oh, fuck, please, please give me more of your big, thick cock! I can't, I just can't take it just sitting there, throbbing and filling me and just not moving! I need more, I need so much more, please, please fuck me, fuck me nice and hard with that long, warm dick -" You trail off, and quietly, ever so quietly add, "Please, pretty please, Mistress? I'll be a good girl for you~"

Unprepared is the easiest way to say it, but it can't possibly express how surprised you are when she moves. Instead of starting off with short, curt thrusts, Angela indulges you in the most extreme, amazingly pleasurable way possible. In the span of milliseconds you go from completely full, feeling perfect and as though all is right in the world, to almost completely empty as she slides herself almost all the way out of you - Or, at least, it feels as though she does. In the next millisecond, she snaps her hips forward, plowing into you once more, and filling you up again.

The pleasure that spills forward isn't indescribable, but it is far too complex and baffling to try and put words to it in your mind in the moment. Without prompting, before she can begin her next thrust, the words are spilling out of your lips. "Oh, fuck, oh, fuck fuck fuck, Mistress, more, more~" And she's happy to indulge you, simply rocking her hips back and snapping them forward, depleting your sense of righteousness before slamming it all back into you at once. Every slam forward also presses her mound into yours, stimulating your clit, and it doesn't take more than 5 thrusts before pleasure overwhelms you.

The idea that one orgasm could roll into another had always confused you - The idea that anyone could keep cumming after the first wave of damned near unbearable pleasure, the thought that instead of almost having a seizure of joy you could just keep rubbing seemed absurd. Angela feels none of the orgasmic bliss that is flooding you, and as such the merciless woman has no compunction to stop, even once your begging for more turns into blathering groans and gasps and probably even a scream or two.

Eventually, she does finally slow herself down, and you can't help but think that the sheen of sweat that's covering her forehead makes her look almost more beautiful than normal. You can't speak for how her panting and moaning affects your view of her, but then again none of it matters. "Fuuuuck you're amazing…" You mumble, unaware up until that moment that your ankles are crossed behind her back and you're hugging her to you, squashing your chests together.

"Thank you~" She huffs, seemingly using her elbows to hold herself up while her hands play around in your hair - Another fact you're only noticing now. "I wanted to ask, just to… Mmmfff… Be safe… Can I cum inside you?"

"O-Of course~ Please do, Mistress~" You can barely finish the sentence before her hips resume their earlier pace, slamming down into you after every, ever so brief period of floating away. Right before your, maybe, 15th orgasm tonight, it occurs to you that you should maybe do more. But, then, you're slipping down the slope into totally-fucked-out-slut-ville once more, and you find you lack the compunction to care, anymore.

The next thing you know, Angela slams herself down, both into your pussy and the rest of her body, and her cock feels like it swells more than it's managed to ever before, at least whilst it's been inside of you. Her cum, which you're sure it is based on the frozen, nirvanic look on her, almost feels like it's boiling inside of you, but despite that, it feels… Pleasant. Hell, it almost feels downright comforting.

What's a little less comforting is the angel who's now kinda… Collapsed on top of you.


	6. So, What's the Play

Chapter 6

"It's been a few days." Angela starts, whilst you sip some tea, leaning forward with your elbows pressed against the table. "I guess I was just wondering how you feel, really." The angel herself has a simple cup of coffee, warm but not nearly as hot as your tea is, but then again, Angela ordered your tea recently where her cup of coffee is a while old. Instead of answering right away, you sip your tea more instead.

Outside, the late January air whirls around London, omnics and humans alike cuddling up as they hurriedly walk from place to place. There are couples of all shapes and sizes, revelling in the early morning of a glorious weekend, and none of them are able to escape your curious gaze. Finally, at least a few minutes after Angela originally asked, you finally turn your big, brown eyes back to her, and smirk.

"Mostly sore~" You joke, getting a small giggle out of your tablemate.

"But, seriously?" She prodes, steepling her fingers around her idle coffee cup. "Alia, it's a very big decision to -"

"Angela, please." You respond, your voice soft but determined. "I know this probably hurts, I - I totally understand how shitty it must be. We both lied to each other about what we wanted out of that night, I think. We both said it was just to see how I felt about it, and we both were just really… Interested, I guess, in one another. But, like I said before, I'm going to be assigned to active duty under Commander Morrison by, probably, the end of the week. I would love, love, love to keep experimenting with you, and see where it all goes, but… Honestly, I shouldn't be tempted to push a superior officer into a supply closet to suck her off."

Never in a million years would you have said that in a quiet cafe. There are at least 30 other patrons in the busy coffee house, each having their own little chats about what Cathy did at work on Friday, or did you hear those rumors about _Blackwatch_ whatever the fuck that's supposed to be, stupid shit like that. The obvious reference to you, kneeling down and holding Angela in place against a wall while you stuff your throat full of her cock goes almost completely unnoticed - Thankfully, the almost unnoticed only applies to Mercy herself.

"I still think you're rushing it a little bit." She replies, finally lifting her cup to sip some coffee. "There's so much we haven't tried - Anal, on either of us, you being more dominant over me, and a whole lot of far, far more kinky things." You can only nod in agreement, really, quickly sipping some more of your own. "I guess I just… I don't wanna feel like I helped you start your journey, but I won't be there for the rest."

You pause, staring down at the lovely oak table under your elbows. A few moments are spent simply staring, another few thinking. "I'm not saying it'd be impossible, Angela. We would have to be extremely careful - Never at work, bloody hell, never really during the week, ever. Weekends only. No more hotels, that felt really stupid even if it was a ton of fun… There would have to be base rules, I guess is what I'm saying."

"Right." She nods, not speaking a word more in case she interrupts too much.

"But, I… A break, at least. I guess what I feel is just that… I can't, right now, be worried about it. I don't want us to end up in a place where we have to choose between our professional reputations and our personal relationship, Angela. I don't like this much more than you do… The other night, it was just… Amazing, really. But we shouldn't. At least, not soon."

"... I think you're right, Alia. It does just kind of…"

"Suck." You finish for her, taking another sip of your still hot tea. There's nothing more that needs saying, really. At that point, the conversation is just kind of over. What more is there to discuss? You suppose you're glad that Angela agrees, but at the same time, you're not sure that you don't want her to push back more, argue in favor of a relationship somehow.

"So, you're totally gay?" Mercy asks, mercifully changing the subject of the conversation.

You smile, thinking for a moment to yourself of tons of puns you could make about rainbows and tacos and the like, before settling on. "I think maybe I should die my hair into a rainbow, if that's what you're wondering. Yeah. I'm very, very gay."

"You're not still worried about the woman from the memories?"

"Oh, no, I still totally am. Only… So, I kind of think that the biggest difference is just that I've experienced for myself, right? Instead of having waking dreams during my lost time, I having memories of what it feels like to kiss and touch and… A lot of other things. I'm not remembering things that a different woman loved, but things that I loved. Which, I guess, what kind of what I wanted in the first place. _I_ felt those things, not the kitchen maid who I dreamt of being. Or who I was. Or… Whatever, really."

Mercy nods, quiet for only a moment. "That makes sense. Have you spoken to Winston about it, like I suggested?"

It's your turn to nod, though you do so almost slowly enough to make Mercy think that you're slowly becoming frozen. "I did. As you thought, he mostly listened and nodded a lot, before saying that he was going to have to think up some kind of experiment. What are the odds that he's going to try and de-age some peanut butter or a banana?" Mercy, apparently, is not in the mood to laugh at your wisecracking.

"Well, he does like bananas and peanut butter, but I don't know that he considers the preservation of either a serious enough concern that he'd go out of his way to perform a time dilation experiment on th - Oh, you were joking, weren't you?"

"What gave it away? The small laughter after I stopped speaking, or the look on my face when you took it 100% seriously?"

"Definitely the latter." Mercy frowns, an action which is plenty to make you burst out into a small giggle fit. "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing." You answer immediately, forcing yourself not to laugh into your tea as you sip away. Angela stares at you, almost squinting. "Seriously it's nothing~"

"Okaaaaaay… Hey, if I'm out of the question, do you have any intention of, well, dating anyone not in Overwatch?"

Your giggle fit might as well have been assassinated by that question. Not in that it's a question that scares you, but simply that you hadn't thought much of it. "I… Dunno, really. I guess if the right woman came around, then maybe." Mercy nods, slowly, her eyes seemingly staring at something over your shoulder. "Whatcha looking at?" You query, turning to look and immediately snapping your head back round to Angela.

It's her turn to laugh at you.

"Oh, shuddup." You grumble, quietly. "I bet you did this on purpose."

"Only a little bit~"

"I hate you."

"Well, that's definitely not true."

"I'm not gonna do it."

"Why not? It's not like you're gonna date me, and you did say that she was the one who made you -"

"I didn't even give you that great of a description! How'd you even know she worked here?"

"Oh, I didn't. I asked one of your pilot friends where you like to go for coffee. There's only one redhead who works here, soooo…"

"I don't get it - Why are you wingwomaning me? I just, like, broke up with you, sort of."

"Well, I've had a few days to think about being done, and I figured if I could convince you to give me more of your time, I'd not mention it. But, if I couldn't, well… What's the harm in a date?"

"I could get hit by a bus?" You suggest, softly, "She would have to watch me get hit by a bus, Angela, there are some serious harms in a date."

"Is everything alright over here?" A voice wonders, soft and low, very obviously feminine and desperately attractive, it's the same kind of voice that Angela used to turn you on the other night. If you had a moment to think about it, you might have wondered who would be asking or why they came over, but instead you simply turn your head to reply and then die before you can even begin the sentence.

"Ever - Uhhhh…"

"I think what's she's trying to say," the ever-selfless, ever-helpful, asshole-angel pipes up. "Is that everything's fine."

"Alrighty~ Let me know if you need anything?" Her eyes flick down to you, and you almost wonder if she's silently thing, ' _Especially you, cutie~'_ but before you can ask or answer the unasked question, she walks away.

"You didn't even notice me nod her over here, did you?" Angela teases, her coffee raising to her lips again. You have to shake your head, frowning. "Go over there and get her number, Alia~ You're very, very cleary head over heels."

"I've never had a conversation with her let alone know what she believes, or how she manages her finances or how she brushes her teeth or if she even likes tacos - How am I supposed to ask her on a date? Especially with a little angel teasing me for having a - For being interested."

"Oh, crushing, are you?" The teasing continues, Angela barely shifting in her seat, but making you wonder if you're about to get another visit from a woman who's almost too beautiful to make sense of.

"Infatuated, yeah… Which isn't love or attraction, at all."

"Maybe not, but you should at least go see if she's interested in you. She does sure seem to be looking over here a lot, so I'd bet she is."

"If I do this will you let it be? So we can just finish our drinks in peace?" Mercy nods, but somehow you don't think for even a second that she really means it. Once you ask, it's far more likely that she'll start asking you for details about a date that you don't actually know - Which is the key difference, you can't do anything about that, and so getting her to drop off of the topic will be a thousand times easier, if not moreso.

Scooching your chair back makes it you're sitting in kind of squeak on the floor, but in a coffee house like this, that's far from uncommon. You stand fairly slowly, and try to remind yourself to take a few deep breaths in order to remain calm. Then, as you push the chair back in, you begin wondering if what you're wearing is really what you ought to be wearing while you introduce yourself to someone - A pair of bright orange leggings and a white t-shirt with your old bomber jacket, and that's sort of thrown together enough that it's somewhat trashy without the chronal accelerator strapped onto you over it.

You decide it's out of your hands, though, and simply give a small huff and reflect on how thankful you are for having had the foresight to wear some knee-high, 2 inch heeled boots instead of any sneakers; The latter would have given you better footwear for running away, but who can actually run in boots like these? No one. In the future, you decide, it'd be a good idea to throw away all non-sneaker foot items, in case a similar situation arises.

"Well, Alia?" Mercy teases you, her hands gripping her coffee cup with ridiculous anticipation. You're just asking a girl out, not trying to stop a second omnic crisis, for fucks sake. She doesn't ask you again, not after the look you shoot her in response to her question.

Has a coffee shop ever been so long? Your boots clack on the floor, but you don't actually seem to be making in progress towards her. That is, until you almost smack into someone's back, barely stopping yourself from stumbling when your brain realizes that you ought to stop before you do. Thankfully, as your balance returns to you and you're able to get your feet underneath you, the person you nearly bumped into doesn't even seem to have realized you'd almost smacked yourself into her.

"Are you okay?" She asks, barely turning her head to check.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine~ Thanks for asking." You reply, genuinely happy that someone cared for your safety.

"Oh, no problem~" She says, her gaze still distracted by her phone. Part of you is super tempted to peek and see what she's gandering at, but you know that'd be ridiculously rude.

Still, you can't help yourself that, as you stand there bored and waiting to speak to the woman at the counter, you start to overanalyze the back of the woman in front of you. She's well dressed in a pair of simple blue jeans, a classic, and a black jacket over what seems to be a red sweater, but you're mostly guessing about a bit of red peeking out from under her coat. Her short, black hair is partially tucked under a stocking hat, which is a great idea for Winter and one you wish you'd thought to follow.

As your eyes trail down to look at her shoe choices, though, they get caught up by what appears to be the best ass since Angela's was in your face the other nice. As fast as they can, your eyes dart away, but they make it not a degree into their speedy turn before a blush has spread across most of your face.

"This is such a slow moving line." The woman in front of you grumbles, turning back to you. Her phone has been tucked into her pocket, now, and you can't help but notice that her eyes seem to be darting around, judging you as she gets a good look at you for the first time. In fairness, your eyes are doing the same thing: Brown eyes, cheeks dotted by freckles, and seemingly full lips. "Do you mind a little chatting, Ms…?"

"Oxton. Er, but you can just, y'know, call me Alia. Cause it's my name." You babble, managing to retrain it to just a moment or two, yet wishing you had a similar power over your blush.

"It's a cute name~ Mine's Emily. It's lovely to meet you." She smiles, turning a little bit more to extend her hand to you. You take it, shaking quickly and becoming distracted from any possible thought as you stare at her smile, and all the wonderful things a positive expression does to her already beautiful face. "So, I see you here pretty often? Do you come here for the coffee or, like, to meet someone?"

"Oh, uhm, I usually come here alone. I brought a friend, or a boss, really, from work with me today."

"Okay, I thought maybe she was your date; The old coffee stereotype thing."

"Oh, nonono. She's lovely, but… Not quite a good idea to date my boss. That, and I'm not sure if she's gay or bi or what, really."

At no point during the conversation thus far have you stopped smiling. Whether because of that or in spite of that, Emily hasn't stopped smiling either. "Oh, well, I definitely am~" The ravenette jokes, smiling brightly.

Then, things change. For a moment, you get lost in time again, but at least this time in a far less physical way. You're here, right now, to ask someone out who you've never even had a conversation with, but you're not even sure that the woman behind the counter is gay, or that she'd be interested in you in any way more than the average worker is interested in their regular customers. Now, you end up faced with a choice; A woman you who you've got no idea who she actually is, or…

"Emily, did you want to get coffee together sometime?" You ask, softly, and watch as what you think is a similar thought process goes on in her head. On her luscious, joyus lips, her smile freezes, and her expression changes as she runs through her own mind, lost in time in her own way. In the moment that passes, it feels like it's been a year since she spoke.

"Uhm, that depends on if you'd take me to coffee as a date, I think."

"It would be a date." You manage to squeak out.

"Then I'd be happy to, Alia~" She smiles, though now it's a whole lot brighter than you could have imagined. While you stare at her, probably a little weirdly, you can't help but notice a strand of orange-red hair peeking out from under her hat.

"Are you wearing a wig?" You ask, your eyebrows scrunching together for a moment.

"Oh, yeah! I'm playing a part in a little musical; It's nothing special, really, but given it's a French character, I thought it'd be weird to play it with the most stereotypical Irish hair ever, y'know?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah, that makes sense. What's the play, er, musical about?"

You can't help reality; The fact that, while you're listening to her explain everything that's going into this production about an omnic trying to help a widow get over her husband before finding out she's actually some kind of international assassin, you can't help but start to smile at so many things about her. For such a small time thing, or so she says, Emily is so fucking excited about playing this role, and her smile and her enthusiasm and the way she almost barrels into someone because she only half-noticed the line was moving because she was busy explaining a play to her date, thank you very much, ma'am…

You know then that you can't let whatever this is be _just_ one date.


End file.
